


Abnormal

by teprometo



Series: 2014 Summer Pornathon [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Closeted Character, Female Solo, Masturbation, Other, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guinevere’s life was wonderful by all conventional measures. But there was something deeply unconventional about her, something that would strip her of her title, of her life purpose, if anyone ever learned of it—something Abnormal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abnormal

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2014 Summer Pornathon week two challenge, [Secrets and Lies](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/101956.html).

Guinevere was well loved and respected and rarely received any grievances at Mesin, the weekly gathering of citizens of Iltadox for grievance airing, forgiveness touch circles, and isolated meditation. Once or twice she’d been chastised for ignoring the plight of Entruchs (those from high jinar found to be Abnormal and reassigned to the lower jinar), but more often than not, she instead found excuses to air her own grievances—to Arthur, the stunning blond reporter, for his insensitivity towards lower jinar children; to Morgana, the buxom Edinball player, for brushing past Guinevere on Jin Street without saying hello; to Merlin and Leon and Elena and Morgause, for any reason she could think of.

Guinevere was taught in parliament preparatory school that the first few generations after the Great Purge had nearly seen their carefully structured society obliterated. In Iltadox, only the lower jinar reproduced. The high jinar, the working class who kept the atmosphere safe, the water drinkable, and the hydroponic farms productive, had no need for sex, but their lingering craving for it was nearly Iltadox’s undoing. Soon after the Great Water Shortage, however, there was a renewed adherence to the system, and by now, sexual arousal was something taught to initiates of the lower jinar, having been washed from the status quo of the species.

Upon being inspected at birth and deemed of high aptitude, a glance at the household requests saw Guinevere assigned to the highest jinar, which was populated by physicians, government officials, and the media. Her Mutox was Head Inspector of Infirmaries, and after her primary education, Guinevere was enrolled in the accelerated program at parliament school, which saw her as Junior Administrator of Civil Welfare within two years.

Guinevere’s life was wonderful by all conventional measures. But there was something deeply unconventional about her, something that would strip her of her title, of her life purpose, if anyone ever learned of it—something Abnormal.

There was little use for privacy amongst the high jinar. Without sexual attraction, bodies were just tools. People wore clothing or didn’t, depending on the activity of the moment or their personal inclinations for or against fashion. This made things very difficult for Guinevere, who found bodies of all kinds incredibly exciting. She feigned fashionista so as not to draw undue attention to the fact that she _always_ wore clothing. She went to work in clothes. She exercised in them, went to the spa in them, slept in them. She invested hundreds of hours (and thousands of cost units) in her supposed hobby to hide the fact that if she weren’t wearing panties, she’d constantly be walking with trails of slick down her thighs.

Mesin was the only place Guinevere was guaranteed privacy, the only time she could indulge in touch, could place her hands on others’ bodies, wherever she chose, under the guise of forgiveness. Each week, she’d air a feigned grievance in order to get some gorgeous person’s hands on her tits, her arse, sliding up between her legs. She’d bury her face in someone’s hair, their neck, breathing them in, sometimes tasting. Morgana’s beautiful tits, Arthur’s generous arse, Merlin’s perfect lips. She would touch and be touched until they agreed that all grudges had been lifted, that they’d found oneness again, and then she would retreat to one of the austere meditation rooms and lock the door behind her.

Sometimes she didn’t even bother slipping off her panties, just jammed both hands down the front of her skirt and slid four fingers into her cunt, humping hard against her hands for the twenty, thirty seconds it took to come. Sometimes she got completely naked and built it up for ages, squeezing her nipples, running just the tip of one finger up and down the length of her slit before slowly teasing inside, thumb occasionally brushing over her clit. Sometimes she took the mirror out of her satchel and watched her fingers disappearing into her body, hot and secret and forbidden and so good she had to bite down on the ornate leather collar of her jacket to keep from crying out.

Sometimes, in her most guarded fantasies, Guinevere imagined being reassigned to the lower jinar, fucking and being fucked as much, as long, as hard as she could take it. But after she came and cleaned herself up, she put that thought away. Parliament was her calling. And she couldn’t possibly be the only Entruch in the highest jinar.


End file.
